


the courage of stars

by judlane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro, Homesickness, M/M, More tags to be added, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9587285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judlane/pseuds/judlane
Summary: “Congratulations. Consider yourself a life-long prisoner of the Galra Empire. You should be honored,” Commander Keith hissed as he leaned close, breath hot on Lance’s skin.Or, Lance is a cargo pilot that is abducted by a Galra ship. Pissing off the Commander was definitely not his smartest move.





	1. if i could reach the stars

**Author's Note:**

> so here's the gist: lance is a cargo pilot and is taken by a galra ship. keith is the commander and he's basically a dickweed who's constipated with his feelings, but it's ok bc lance thinks he's kinda cute. this is going to be a slow burn kinda thing and its def not like a slavery type ordeal mk, jsyk. it's more like lance was supposed to be a prisoner but he manages to wheedle himself into keith's life bc he's super annoying and picky. also, this is more of the intro to things, so just know next chapter is not going to be so boring.  
> i proofread this while running on two hours of sleep, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know!  
> chapter title: if i could turn back time by cher

To say Lance’s day had gone to shit was an understatement.

The worst part about it, though, was that his day actually started out pretty decent. He played his favorite playlist in the shower, had just enough moisturizer to cover his T-Zone, and spent the good half of his day at work flipping through gossip magazines and pulling out coupons. It was slow. Relaxing.

He’d been called out to do one shipment, because the deliverer was on a time crunch and short one cargo pilot, and there’s only so much alien drama one can read about in one day. So Lance had accepted, shoved his collection of coupons into his work uniform, got the coordinates, then was on his merry way.

The cargo ship he drove was a small, blocky thing designed for heavy-lifting and a single pilot. When Lance first started taking shipments, he’d been a nervous mess from how closed in he felt despite it, y’know, flying in fucking space. But after two years, the crowded walls were littered with pictures of his family and he had downloaded all of his favorite Cher tracks to sing along to so he wouldn’t get too caught up in his own thoughts.

In Lance’s opinion, despite the loneliness and boredom, it was an easy job. Clock in, wait for a call, get it done, go home at six sharp every night. Drink a little wine while watching some soap operas, and he was out by nine. Rinse and repeat. It was good money too. He was always able to send home a good portion of his checks to his Mama, because he remembers how her calloused hands felt against his face when he was younger and how she worked herself to the bone. And that he loved her and loved to get pictures of her smiling wide with his brothers and sisters or get a video chat of them all screaming in a jumble of Spanish and English.

 _“Are you watching Gilmore Girls again, conejito?”_ She had asked one night, eyes wrinkled in mirth.

He’d scoffed and said no, but he was dressed in a light blue bathrobe, face mask on, and that’s what he always did when he was back home when he watched Gilmore Girls.

He missed her something terrible.

Lance was in the middle of a Cher verse, eyes a little misty, when his ship suddenly jerked right and the lights began flickering in warning.

A cargo ship was built for a lot different things, but it was not built for battle.

Lance had cursed, immediately throwing out a distress signal, hands scrambling on the control panel as he tried to stop the ship from careening. And as he managed to right the hulking scrap of metal, he felt his heart skitter to a stop.

There, with its blasters aimed right at him, was a Galra ship.

The Galra had a reputation around the Galaxy. Basically big bullies with cat ears and yellow eyes and a complete infatuation with the color purple. They had conquered quite a few planets, but seemed to slowing on their tyrant roll in the last couple of years as other planets began to unite against them. So then the Universe fell into this shifty, fragile sense of peace. The Galra still attacked ships every now and again, exchanged some heavy fighting with some planets, but relatively seemed to be keeping in their lane.

A lane that Lance seemed to be included in.

“Fuck me,” he had whispered, right as he saw the Galra ship opened up at the base and his ship lurched forward as he was pulled inside.

Today just wasn’t his day.

* * *

 

  
Lance didn’t know what to do. He thought about waiting in the chair, but then for some reason that felt too - sexual? Submissive? Imagine giant muscle cat-eared men invading your ship and they find you sitting in your chair, legs crossed, hand poised as if to say _hey boys._

Yet he also couldn’t just stand up in fear that the Galra would see him automatically as a threat and blast his insides out.

So, instead, he chose to sit rigid in his chair, trying to look intimidating and mean and not at all like a cargo pilot who bedazzled his cockpit with pictures of his family and was wearing a khaki uniform. Who exfoliated daily and drank a glass of wine a night.

When the door slid open though, to reveal two very purple and very muscular Galra soldiers, Lance couldn’t help but shrink.

He was basically, like, a fucking wiener dog standing up to two wolves. Or cats. Whatever.

“Name and business,” one said, gun held aloft casually like it wasn’t pointing at Lance.

“Uh - Lance McClain, cargo pilot, en route to delivery.” Lance’s voice was absolutely not shaking.

The other Galra soldier, the one not pointing a lethal weapon at him, waved a gloved clawed hand. “Stand up. Keep your hands visible.”

Lance did as he was told, willing his lungs to work and his lunch to stay down.

“Walk.”

It was a moment before Lance could get his legs to move. He stumbled, once, before he was walking past the soldiers and out his cargo ship. Two other soldiers were waiting for him, both identical to the ones practically hounding him from behind.

One thing that is very well known about Lance to his friends and family, is that he hates awkward silences. Hates them with a fiery, smoldering passion. In his book, they’re one of the worst thing to ever experience. Lance would much rather have cockroaches run over his toes before he had to sit through an awkward silence.

(When he had told his Mama that at the dinner table, she had knocked his knuckles so hard with her wooden spoon that his knuckles were swollen for a whole week.)

And that hatred didn’t deter even when he was being escorted by armed Galra soldiers in an unknown ship.

“So - just, out and about cruising?”

No answer.

“Just wondering, where do you guys even get all of these purple colored furnishings? Like, do you guys have the equivalent of a Galra IKEA, and you just get anything that’s purple?”

No answer.

“Hey, not that there’s anything wrong--”

A blunt crack to the back of Lance’s skull sent him tumbling, vision petering in and out. He had barely managed to fall to his knees in his disorientation before he was being hauled up again and shoved forward. Vomit burned dangerously in the base of his throat as Lance struggled to keep his feet under him.

_Mental Galra checklist point one: they enjoy awkward silences. Let them have their awkward silences._

It was a long time before, finally, the Galra soldiers stopped outside a set of wide double doors.They were covered in intricate designs that Lance could only guess was words, metal glossy and purple still ever present.

One soldier lifted his clawed hand and rapidly knocked on the door, just twice, and seemed to stand even more alert. 

“Enter.”

The double doors swung open and Lance was shoved forward and then claws around his shoulders were forcing him down on to his knees at the center of what looked to be a study. The back of his head throbbed.

“We obtained a cargo ship, Sir. This is its pilot.”

It took a moment for Lance to realize that the kid before him, no, wasn’t being taken prisoner like he was, but was seated at a desk covered in papers and was wearing what looked to be some Galra fancy clothes. The next thing that Lance noticed was that he very much had Galra ears and yellow eyes and was very much a human looking Galra. He was also, to Lance’s final terrible conclusion, kind of cute.

The Galra eyed him for a long moment, before slowly standing.

“What was aboard his ship?”

“Simple supplies.”

Human-Galra guy seemed to ponder for a long moment, then waved a hand (not clawed) dismissively. “Lock him up. We’ll deal with him when we get back to base.”

Lance’s stomach dropped. Lock him up? Was he - was he being kidnapped?

“Now you just wait a moment!” Lance heard himself snapping as the Human-Galra turned back to his desk. The clawed hand around his shoulder squeezed until something popped, but that didn’t deter him.

“You - you can’t just _kidnap_ me!”

“I cant?”

“No, you can’t. I haven’t even - I did nothing wrong! I’m just a cargo pilot!” Lance’s head was pounding and the claws in his shoulder had definitely broken skin but his anger was like a catching fire in his veins.

Lance went to open his mouth to continue when the butt of a gun slammed in-between his shoulder blades. He dropped to his hands, spluttering as he struggled to regain his breath.

“How dare you speak to our Commander like that?” One of the Galra soldiers was snarling above Lance’s head. It was starting to become difficult to tell what was up and what was down.

“Cease. Let the human appeal his case.” Was this fucker really mocking him?

Lance ground his teeth hard, tasting blood as he caught his tongue in the process. He pushed himself back to his knees where he could glare at the smirking Galra.

“Appeal my case to what? Some - some half-breed with cat ears?” Lance knew he had pushed some button because the Commander’s shoulders curled angrily and his yellow eyes flashed. He should probably shut up, probably try to persuade his way out of this situation, but there was a fire burning in Lance’s chest and he couldn’t stop himself. “Like the Galra know anything about justice. Stooping so low that you’ve got to abduct cargo pilots to entertain yourselves. So low they’ve got a half-breed as a--”

Claws around Lance’s throat choked his words off. He hadn’t even seen him move, but suddenly the Commander was in front of Lance, face fully shifted into all its Galra glory with long gleaming fangs. The growl that rumbled out of his mouth sent a shiver up Lance’s spine as he gasped for air.

“You are an idiotic, sniveling human. You think you can insult me when I am the only thing keeping you alive?”

Lance’s vision was beginning to dim around the corners and it was hard to focus on the Galra’s enraged eyes as they blurred.

“Congratulations. Consider yourself a life-long prisoner of the Galra Empire. You should be honored,” he hissed as he leaned close, breath hot on Lance’s skin.

Then Lance was slipping under and the black of was all around him and, for one moment, the hands around his throat was his mother’s and she was sobbing in his ear for him to _come home, conejito, come home._

* * *

 

 

When Lance awoke, the acidic tang of bile was at the back of his throat and it hurt to breathe. He instinctively touched the base of his neck and hissed at how sensitive it was. He would literally kill for a sip of water.

_Mental Galra checklist point two: Galra have killer choke slams._

He was in a cell, pitch black darkness save for the sliver of light that ran under what Lance would presume was the door. He tried to shift to his knees to crawl over to peer under it, but the moment he lifted his head, he had to roll onto his side to keep from throwing up on himself. When he was done, he groaned, a sound that scraped raw at this voice, and managed to slide himself away from the vomit.

 _You really did it this time, buddy._ Lance thought sourly. _Couldn’t have kept your mouth shut for once, could ya?_

All Lance could do was wait and sleep. Which wasn’t that hard. He was pretty sure he had a concussion and was exhausted. (Weren’t you supposed to _not_ sleep when you had a concussion? Lance couldn’t bring himself to remember or care.)

And then, suddenly, the door was hissing open and Lance was blinded by a bright light that sent him into a groaning ball. He pressed the heels of his hands hard into the shadows beneath his eyes as his head throbbed.

Footsteps stopped just in front of him.

It was a long moment before curiosity won out over the sharp pain of the light, and Lance peeked up from his fingers to the figure standing over him.

To Lance’s surprise it was a man - no real resemblance to the Galra except for the uniform and the uh - metal arm pulsing purple. He was tall, broad shoulders and muscles very, very visible. His dark hair was buzzed short save for the white shock of bangs in the front. A long scar ran horizontal across the bridge of his nose.

 _Why do they have to be cute_ , Lance whined internally.

“Can you stand?” The man asked. He seemed much more docile than the Commander had been.

Lance had to swallow twice before he could find his voice. “If you give me a moment.”

The man nodded and waited patiently as Lance pushed himself slowly up to his knees. It took longer for him to get his feet underneath himself and even then he was wobbly.

To Lance’s surprise, the man had his hands out at his sides, like he was waiting to catch him. Or to calm a cornered animal. Maybe both.

“I’m Shiro.”

“Lance.”

Shiro’s lips twitched into a small grin. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

Lance raised his eyebrows. Now that he was up, it was becoming easier to steady himself.

Shiro crossed his strong arms over his chest. “Whole ship has been talking about some cargo pilot that ran his mouth off and got thrown into the cells.”

“I think you’re kinda missing the part where I was also choked out by a purple cat, but yeah, that’s me,” Lance mused, touching his neck lightly.

Immediately Shiro’s brow furrowed and he leaned closer to get a better look at Lance’s neck. It was mottled by dark bruises in the shape of claws that nearly wrapped the entire way around. There was also the dark patch on his shoulder from what Lance could only guess was blood. His uniform was ruined.

Shiro straightened, eyes still flickering from Lance’s neck to his shoulder, before he seemed to make up his mind.

“C’mon, let’s get you patched up.”

Lance faltered as Shiro turned on his heel and marched out of his cell. What if this was a trick? The Commander could easily transform into a Galra, so why not the other way as well? How did Lance know that Shiro was really a human and not leading him to a Galra booby trap?

 _It’s not like I have much to lose_ , Lance thought sourly as he started after Shiro out of his cell.

The corridor was dark and lined with black slabs of doors, each marked with glowing purple Galra letters. Lance hurried after Shiro and tried not to feel too creeped out when the only sound was their boots on the hard floor.

Shiro led him out of the corridor and through a wide sliding door. The change in the atmosphere was instantaneous. There was still the terrible choice in purple and the walls and floors were still dark gray, but bright light lined the hallway. Shiro also changed. Immediately, his back became rigid and his arms swung in fists at his sides.

The look he gave Lance over his shoulder was cold. “Keep up.”

Lance’s heart stuttered in his chest and his stomach dropped to his feet. Something akin to betrayal sat thickly in the middle of his throat, but that only frustrated Lance more. He was probably being led to be fed to some Galra pet, why had he hoped for anything different.

If he went around trusting every single person who happened to be nice to him, he was going to ruin himself. Especially on a fucking Galra ship.

Shiro buzzed himself into a brightly room that was suspiciously set up like the dorms back in Lance’s flight academy. The small bed was made with a military precision and everything was bare, even the plain desk that sat against the far wall. It was much more different than Lance’s room had been. His room had always been in a disarray of clothes on the floor and posters covering every available space. Lance suddenly thought of the photos that decorated his cargo ship and felt sick with sadness.

“Sit down on the bed and take off your shirt,” Shiro instructed as he went into the attached bathroom.

Lance did as he was told. Even the bed felt like how his dorm one had. If anyone as attractice as Shiro had said that in a different situation, Lance probably would have been blushing from his head to his toes. But his shoulder was stinging and the back of his head was still sensitive and it hurt to swallow, and Lance was too exhausted to care about any underlying context.

Shiro returned with a small med kit in his hands and knelt in front of Lance. He gave him an expectant look and Lance quickly shedded his uniform shirt and hissed as his wounds pulled.

His shoulder was an array of blue and greenish bruising, matching the ones around his neck. Four puncture holes were on the front and just one on his back. Lance’s stomach rolled when he saw how deep they actually were.

Shiro put a warm hand on Lance’s bicep and tilted his shoulder to give himself a better look. His face was that again of when Lance had stood up in his cell. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern and he was frowning in contemplation.

“They don’t look infected which is good. I’m going to spray some disinfectant just in case, so this might sting a little.”

Lance nodded and tried not to think about that time he had tore his knee up after he fell off his bike and his mother had held his hand as she sprayed disinfectant on the scrapes.

The medicine was cool on Lance’s skin. It stung only a little, but when Shiro began to apply bandages it started to throb dully. When he was done, Shiro sat back on his heels and looked at Lance’s neck with pursed lips.

“There’s not much I can do for your neck. It’s going to take time to heal. Best advice I can give is don’t get on Keith’s bad side again. Also, here.” Shiro handed him a too-big black shirt but it was much softer than Lance’s bloodstained uniform.

Lance murmured his thanks then froze. “Keith?”

Shiro was putting back the medical supplies in the box. When he met Lance’s eyes, he looked a little surprised. “Yeah?”

“Like - the Commander?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The laugh that ripped out of Lance’s chest was loud and belly-deep. He guffawed into his hands, shoulder twanging painfully but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. _His name was Keith_. The cool touch of metal on his good side made him look at Shiro. He was regarding him like he was trying to reconcile a mangy cat trapped in an alleyway.

“Lance?”

“I’m - I’m sorry but his name is - _Keith_?”

Shiro slowly nodded like Lance was a slow kid.

“Holy shit, I got choked out by a half-breed named _Keith_.”

The medical box creaked under the pressure from Shiro’s hand. “Don’t call him that.”

Lance’s laughs died in his throat.

Then suddenly Shiro was disappearing back into the bathroom to put up the med kit and he was ushering Lance out and down the hall again. Shame darkened Lance’s skin and he found himself staring at the back of Shiro’s boots the entire walk back. Why did he feel so guilty? Maybe because Shiro had the attitude of a dad, and Lance had never dealt well when male authority got on to him. The thought of Lance’s own father churned anger in his gut and he clenched his fists tightly.

The silence was a suffocating blanket over the two of them and it became even more stifling when Lance’s cell door hissed open. He was slightly pleased to see his vomit had been cleaned up.

Shiro stood in the doorway. “I’ll bring you some food in a few. Don’t pick at the bandages too much and try to leave your neck alone. It’ll heal faster if you don’t mess with the bruises.”

Lance nodded and stepped further into his cell. His headache was starting to come back and the sharp pang of hunger at the mention of food made him want to groan.

The door closing plunged him into complete darkness and all Lance could do was curl up against the wall. He buried his face into his arms and tried to convince himself he was crying because of his injuries, not because he missed his family.

Today really wasn’t his day.


	2. your heart is down for the count

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any mistakes! please let me know if you find any, bc if i proofread this thing one more time im gonna pull my hair out  
> can you tell how much i love cher.. this entire fic is literally based off of cher songs im ngl

Lance had been expecting a single swaying overhead light in an otherwise pitch dark room while he was handcuffed to a table, blood dribbling down his chin and his voice rough as he snapped _“You’ll never get me to talk.”_

What he wasn’t expecting was cleaning duty.

After Shiro brought him food, some weird green goo that tasted like hamburgers, he’d gotten him re-situated in an room identical to his own, explaining that Lance was still in the lower quarters of the ship so sorry if it got stuffy at night. But Lance had a bed and a bathroom and a mirror so he was perfectly fine. Well, not perfectly fine. He was actually one wrong move from having a complete meltdown and it had taken him a full minute to get his lungs working after he locked himself in the bathroom. The only thing that was keeping his panic at bay was Shiro just on the other side of the door.

Shiro sat with him while he ate and gave him a dark purple uniform, almost exactly like the jumpsuits inmates wore back on Earth. Lance had choked on goo when Shiro told him he was to wear it at all times.

“Like, all times all times? Like all the time no matter what?”

Shiro quirked one perfect eyebrow, lips twitching. “Yes? Will that be a problem?”

“Define problem,” Lance had muttered under his breath as he held the outfit at fingertips length in disgust.

It was whatever. Lance could deal. One lousy purple uniform was pretty low on his current list of concerns.

The moment Lance was done with his green goo meal, Shiro was herding him out the door and into the hallway.

“Every day you’re going to be cleaning a section of the ship. It’s mostly just hallway sweeping and room cleaning and laundry, so it shouldn’t last all day,” Shiro had explained as he pulled out a small tablet from his pants pocket and tapped the display. “It looks like you’ll be in the upper quarters on mop duty, so let’s head there.”

And that’s how Lance found himself wearing knee pads over his horrendous purple outfit and scrubbing at a scuff mark on the horrendous purple floor with a horrendous purple rag and bucket. By himself. In a Galra ship in a Galra hallway. The prospect of running had been shot down when Shiro pointed out there was a tracking device in his outfit, so even if he did run he wouldn’t get far. Plus, where would he go? If Lance did make it to an escape pod, there was no chance he would figure out how to launch it, and if he did, he didn’t know where they were in the galaxy anymore. They could have jumped through a dozen wormholes and be millions of light years away from his home.

That thought suddenly punched the air right out of Lance’s lungs. His knees ached and the scuff mark wasn’t budging and Lance was a prisoner on a Galra ship. He was never going to see his family again. He was never going to go home for holidays and watch soap operas with his Mama while they cooked. He would never get to wrestle with his little brothers and sisters again.

Lance pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and willed himself to not cry. Not here where any soldier could waltz by and crack his head again. But when he pulled his hands away, the skin was damp and Lance’s nose was beginning to run.

“Fuck this,” Lance growled, resuming his scrubbing angrily. He ignored the tears that splattered the back of his hands. “Fuck the Galra, fuck the color purple, fuck dumbasses who can’t clean their boots, fuck _everything_.”

He needed to get his breathing under control or else he was going to tumble into a full blown panic attack. He needed to go home.

Lance forcefully took a deep breath. He would make a plan. He’d get Shiro to tutor him on the language, he’d map out the Galra ship and the guard’s patrolling schedule. He’d snoop around and find out their coordinates and then calculate how far away they were from Earth. He could do this. He’d have to.

The hallway took him nearly two hours to completely clean and his shoulder was smarting angrily by the time he sat back on his aching legs. Sweat had accumulated at his temples and kept dripping into his eyes.

Lance rolled his head back and stared up at the ceiling, wiping his sleeve at his forehead. “This sucks.”

\--

Lance fell into a routine. He ate, showered, cleaned, talked a little to Shiro when he could, showered again, and slept. A week passed like this. Just Lance trying his best to pry any information from Shiro and him cleaning. There was a dirty joke somewhere about how bruised his knees were, but there was no one he could share it with. Shiro had already shot down his dirty humor after a certain incident of getting mop water on his backside.

He’d tried to ask exactly what Shiro’s position was on the ship. He didn’t look like a prisoner, with his neat uniform and raging pecs, but didn’t carry himself like he was in any sort of command. The only time Lance had even seen him with anything Galra related was when he pulled out his tablet to find out where Lance would be for the day.

Shiro’s face had tightened, then grew emotionless. Lance took that for the answer it was and didn’t ask again.

Something that began to gnaw at Lance was how quiet the ship was. Every hallway he cleaned was deserted, not one person in all the hours he spent scrubbing. He hadn’t even seen any of the other prisoners on the ship. It was kind of creepy, but overall, Lance was glad. He felt like he had more of a chance of running into a Galra soldier, but so far his luck had won out. He didn’t want to look another Galra soldier in their ugly face again.

The Universe had other plans.

The squeaking of boots caught Lance’s attention first. He glanced up, sweat dribbling over his brow, and then let out a loud groan.

Commander Keith stopped just in front of him, jaw clenched.

 _Just imagine. Blind him with the soapy water and choke him out with the purple rag._ Lance thought as he pretended the floor was Keith’s face.

“Is this how all humans treat those who deserve respect?” There was a condescending tilt to Keith’s overall snide tone and it made Lance nearly rub the rags to pieces.

  
 _Don’t talk back._ He took a deep breath, twice, then three times before replying. “Sorry, I don’t know Galra customs. Am I supposed lick your ears or something?” _Fuck._

Keith growled, low in his throat, and Lance didn’t miss how his yellow eyes flash. “Sit up, human.”

Lance really wanted to snap that he has a name, okay, and it’d be polite to ask for it. From Keth’s lip curling back to reveal very sharp canines, he must have said that out loud. His plan to be undetected was going _smoothly_.

But he does as he’s told, mostly because he doesn’t want his throat ripped out. His knees twist sharply in pain as he puts his weight on them and it takes all of Lance’s willpower to keep his face neutral. He can’t help but wonder if this is how his Mama felt when she pulled all of those late hours cleaning office buildings and grocery stores. If - no, _when_ he saw her again, he was going to give her the best leg massage in the entire Galaxy.

Commander Keith was glaring at him like he was a particularly nasty stain on the floor, but that couldn’t be right because that shit was spotless thanks to Lance’s diligence. You could pluck your eyebrows using them. Something Keith was in dire need of. That and a few pore cleansers. Exfoliation masks as well. New personality.

He wasn’t particularly scary looking, in all actuality. His skin was a light purple, darker in splotches on his neck and behind his elongated ears. The mop that sat on top of his head was black, long in the bangs and melted into some type of mullet in the back. Keith was only covered by a thin layer of fur on his arms and back, much thicker on his ears and where his mullet tapered off. He was pretty cute - definitely Lance’s type if he wasn’t, y’know, the guy who made him a prisoner and all that Galra jazz.

“I am sick and tired of your attitude,” Commander Keith snapped. The purple was darkening like a flush across his throat. “I don’t think you’ve fully grasped what position you are in. You are on _my_ ship, under _my_ command. If I wanted, I could kill you. Do you think cleaning is the worst of it?” He was looming over Lance now, fangs elongated.

Lance suddenly thought of Shiro’s emotionless face. He shrank back as Keith advanced.

“It would be in your best interest to learn your place, _human_.” He spat the last word very much like Lance had sneered half-breed.

Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, Commander Keith was gone and Lance was left cowering in the hallway, heart galloping in his chest and knees aching.

Lance squeezed his hands into fists and screamed with his mouth closed.

\---

  
“What did you do,” Shiro hissed the moment he’s through the door.

Lance tried to look everywhere but Shiro’s imploring eyes. He settled on the tray of goo. “I - uh - might’ve, y’know, just had a little conversation with the Commander.”

“A _conversation?_ ” Shiro set the tray down on the desk before whirling and glaring. The kind of glaring a parent did before they said _I’m not angry, just disappointed._

“Yeah… like he talked a little and then I talked a little…”

Shiro put his face in his metal palm and heaved a sigh. “Lance, he’s livid. He’s demanding you to report to his quarters first thing tomorrow.”

Lance hunched his shoulders up to his ears. “I mean, it can’t be worse than scrubbing floors-”

“It can be a lot worse than scrubbing floors!” The volume of Shiro’s voice made Lance recoil. His normally pleasant face was contorted with anger and something much darker. “This isn’t some kind of game, Lance. This isn’t like Earth, where if you joke around enough you can get out scot free.”

Anger burned hard in the pit of Lance’s stomach and something shook loose. His mind was pulled to its limits, like a rubber band that had been stretched too far and was snapping back in place.

He leaped up and threw his arm out across his desk, scattering the goo and tray. Lance grabbed the tray and slammed it hard against the wall a few times before he hurled it away. His rage still fizzled in the back of his mind and he just wanted to hit something, to grab something and throttle it. He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. He wanted to go home.

“You think - you think _I don’t get that_?” The voice that ripped out of Lance did not sound like his own. This voice was trembling and angry and betrayed and lonely. “You think I haven’t fucking noticed I’m not on Earth? You think this is, what, a fucking vacation? I’m just a cargo pilot! That’s it! That’s all I am! But I’m stuck here, on a fucking Galra ship, when all I was doing was my job! I’m not like you, I’m not going to sit here and kiss ass and hope I can make it to the point where I don’t have to scrub floors anymore. If you think I’m just going to turn over and let them do whatever the fuck they want to me, then you’re the one who needs reminding this isn’t a game.”

Lance was heaving and he could feel where his nails had cut into his palms and he knew those were going to sting tomorrow when he cleaned, but he didn’t care.

Shiro had gone from astonished to carefully neutral. It wasn’t until Lance dragged a hand over his face did he realize he was crying, but he didn’t want to give Shiro the sight of him wiping his eyes. That was a trait him and his Mama shared. They both cried when they got mad.

The silence that settled over them was thick. Lance suddenly felt tired and drained. He stepped over the mess he had made and sat back down on his bed and pressed his fists to his eyes. “Just - just get out, Shiro. Thanks for bringing me food and all, but leave me alone for now.”

The door hissed closed behind Shiro and Lance cried into his pillow until he fell asleep.

\--

Shiro didn’t say anything to him the next morning when he came to get Lance. He walked stiffly ahead as they winded through corridors and up elevators Lance felt guilty - like he should apologize but then he remembered where he was and what he was. Spite was enough to keep the guilt down.

It wasn’t enough to temper his fear.

The large purple double doors slid open and Lance stepped inside.

It was the same office that he been dragged through the first day. The only difference was that Lance didn’t have claws going through his shoulder and wasn’t getting choked slam.

Commander Keith was seated at a desk covered in papers and holograms and thick bound books. A board above him was covered in lines and maps and little annotations, like a conspiracy theorist’s findings. When Lance stepped inside, he looked up.

“I’ve brought him as you wished, Commander,” Shiro said just behind Lance’s shoulder.

Keith nodded and stood up. He looked much more human than Galra at the moment, purple only prominent on his ears and back of his neck. Even his hands looked relatively normal.

“Thank you, Shiro. Please leave.”

A hand touched Lance’s back, just briefly between his shoulder blades where a gun had pummeled him so many days ago, and then the doors were closed and Lance was alone.

Keith just stared at Lance for a long moment, looking almost - nervous? Apprehensive? He didn’t look necessarily like he wanted to rip Lance’s throat out, but Lance wasn’t taking any chances. He needed to steel himself for whatever Keith was going to throw at him.

  
 _A mal tiempo, buena cara._ His mother used to whisper to him at night while she pressed frozen peas to his swollen eye. He’d gotten into a fight at school, one out of numerous others, and was wanting to drop out because he hated how the other kids treated him. She had smoothed his hair back and pressed a kiss to his brow and held him until he was asleep.

“You are to clean this study until it is spotless. If you fail, you won’t be rationed dinner. If you fail a second time, it will be lunch. A third time, breakfast. Once you lose one, you won’t gain it back. I hope this is enough incentive to do it right the first time. Am I clear?”

Cleaning? That’s it? Keith had loomed and growled and flashed his fucking fangs to tell Lance he was going to clean? Lance wanted to throw back his head and laugh and say _wow buddy, thanks for making me want to piss my pants in worry_. Instead he nodded.

“Supplies is in the closet in that far door.” Keith waved his hands and sat back down at his desk. He tapped a finger against a screen and began working.

 _This is a joke, it’s gotta be,_ Lance thought as he slowly walked over to the wall-to-wall bookshelf on the other side of the room. It was full of old, thickly bound books, spines covered in Galra lettering and various numbers. _Any minute now he’s going to sneak up behind me, knock me in the head, and yell PUNKD._

But Keith didn’t. Not the entirety of the time Lance got his cleaning supplies and set to work. He didn’t even glance up when Lance sneezed as he dusted over the books and wiped down the shelves. He didn’t look up when Lance moved uncomfortable looking chairs to sweep the floor. He thankfully didn’t look up when Lance flipped him the bird and imitated his fangs and ears.

The quiet also gave Lance the chance to inspect Keith’s room. It was big, no doubt, but there was no bed or bathroom, just bookshelves, a desk, and a few lounging chairs and a small glass table. There was a stand by the door with a vase and smaller books. In Lance’s opinion, this looked more like his Grandma’s house than a Galra commander’s. The thought made him snort.

When he made his way to the Keith’s side, however, he saw it. A CD player, like the kind that sat in his Mama’s kitchen. A big, ancient thing with the thick buttons and creaky dials. There were a few CD cases lying on the top and Lance pretended to be interested in dusting as he snooped.

He nearly dropped the duster in his shock.

There, lying open and empty atop all of the other CDs, was a Cher’s hit album _Heart of Stone_. The very CD Lance had played countless of times in his cargo ship or in his shower or as he applied his exfoliating mask at night. For a moment, icy rage bloomed in his chest at the thought of Keith keeping Lance’s belongings to himself, when he noticed how poor of shape the case was in. The clear plastic was scratched and chipped, like it had been dropped or thrown one too many times. Lance’s CDs were treated like priceless treasure.

It took a moment for Lance to put two and two together.

_Commander Keith was listening to Cher._

Maybe it was his knack to act before thinking. Maybe it was because Lance had a death wish or the idea of listening to Cher was much more appealing to listen to as he was gutted by a Galra, probably all three, but he didn’t think twice as he hit play.

Immediately the study was filled with [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3BE7ZnU3tk&index=2&list=PLBYvBFuPKAwXrlu4OrhNxr7RQiwOggD0P).

Keith’s back went rigid and his hand paused in midair. Lance was waiting for something - death was most likely, but nothing happened. He just sat frozen. So Lance went back to what he was doing, like he wasn’t playing Cher in a Galra’s room who had threatened him several times.

Cher was a peacemaker. Everybody loved Cher. Even Galras who imprisoned cargo pilots.

Man, Lance wished he could somehow phone home and tell his mom that he was currently cleaning the study of a commander Galra while singing along to a Cher CD. She’d probably think he was having one of his crazy dreams again. Maybe he was. Maybe he had been living a nightmare all along and soon he’d jerk awake with a Cher lyric stuck in his head.

His palms stinging from where his nails had cut were a reminder that he was very much in reality.

Lance kept an eye on Keith as crossed the room to get his broom so he could sweep around the CD stand. When Keith looked at him, Lance avoided his eyes deftly. He’d heard somewhere if you made eye contact with a wild animal you were basically inviting it to chew on your head. So he kept his eyes downcast and started sweeping.

And if he started swaying to the beat and singing the song underneath his breath, that was his business because who doesn’t sing along to Cher?

The weight of Keith’s eyes were digging into Lance’s back. Lance ignored it by pretending the handle of the broom was a microphone and he was instead in a stadium of a couple hundred thousand people. He was back in the late 80s, hair blowing in the fan-generated breeze as he stooped to grasp reaching hands and wink at crying faces.

Lance’s bubble was soon popped, however, by the track ending and the study falling in complete silence. He waited for the next song to pick up, but when it didn’t, he frowned at the CD player.

“It doesn’t skip automatically.” Lance fumbled with the broom as he realized where he was and who he was with. Keith had fully turned in his chair to face Lance.

“You have to hit the skip button for it change songs.”

Lance looked between Keith and the CD player, uncertain, before shuffling over to the ancient device. His Mama’s had been the same way, but she had fixed it simply.

Lance lifted his hand and thumped the player hard on its side.

“Hey!” Keith snapped, lunging out of his chair, face furious before he stilled when the player started up automatically.

“Sorry, my mom has the same kind and she always has to give it a good whooping every now and then,” Lance explained, scratching at the back of his neck.

Keith slowly sat back down in his chair. He almost looked sheepish at his outburst.

“Oh.”

“There’s probably a really mechanical way to fix it, but, that’s always worked, so,” Lance trailed off. What was he doing? He hurriedly stooped down to pick up the broom to get back work. What was he thinking? Talking to Keith like some buddy?

“Do you - uh -” Keith looked like he was constipated. “You listen to Cher?”

“Who doesn’t listen to Cher?”

Keith turned back to his papers like he wanted to get back to work, but he just stared downwards unseeing. The silence that followed was awkward.

And Lance really, really, really hated awkward silences.

“What song is your favorite?”

Keith looked surprised to be asked before he cooled his features into a frown. It was a moment before he answered, like he was wondering if he should really be talking to Lance at all.

One side won out over the other before he muttered, “ _Heart of Stone_.”

“Oh really? That’s one of my favorites too!” Lance meticulously swept up a dust pile.

Keith cleared his throat. “What about you?”

He was trying to make conversation. Some part of Lance was angry that Keith had any right to talk to him after the bruises around Lance’s throat were just starting to fade, but he was mostly relieved he didn’t have to work in dead silence. Being in your head wasn’t the best place to be at times.

“ _If I Could Turn Back Time_ no doubt about. Hands down.”

Keith wrinkled his nose slightly, and if Lance was in any other situation he would’ve thought it was sorta kinda cute. But it absolutely wasn’t.

“Really? You don’t think that it’s a little too-overplayed?”

Lance groaned. “Oh God, you’re not one of those people right? Like, you don’t like something just because it’s liked by a majority. C’mon, it’s catchy, it’s good feeling, and has great lyrics. Nothing to not like!”

Keith had given up the pretense of working because he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can not like something for my own reasons.”

“Not if your reasons are dumb!” Lance said incredulously.

“If they’re personal reasons, they can’t be dumb.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

Lance waved a hand flippantly in the air. “Yeah, yeah, buddy, whatever. _If I Could Turn Back Time_ is a hit for a reason, and you’re just a hater.”

Keith’s snort was a shock to both of them. Reality was a harsh collar around their throats and they both ducked their head away.

The pained silence was cut by a sharp knock against the door. Keith shot up to turn off the CD player and straightened his uniform like a habit. “Come in.” His voice was like it belonged to a whole different person. When he had been arguing, it had been petulant and relaxed, but now he sounded stiff and very much like a commander. Something Lance had somehow forgotten.

Shiro poked his head through the door and stood to attention. “I’m here to fetch the prisoner, Commander.”

Keith took a seat at his desk. “Take him.”

Lance put away the supplies and couldn’t help but run the scenario over and over in his head. He had listened to Cher with a Galra Commander. He had argued. _Keith had laughed._

The walk back to his room was just as quiet as before, but this time, Lance couldn’t seem to care. What had just happened?

Before he could disappear into his room to wait for dinner, Shiro softly touched his arm.

“Lance, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoke to you like that, and I know this is really hard for you, but just trust me. We can see if we can work something out and have Keith rethink is decision.”

“Oh - uh. Yeah, that’d be pretty great. Being a prisoner kinda sucks.”

Shiro laughed. It was a much more open thing that Keith’s snort had been.

“I hope it wasn’t too hard today, but you seem like you’re in one piece, so I’ll go get you dinner. Get some rest for now.” Shiro squeezed his good shoulder, once, before he stepping away and letting the doorsclose behind him.

Lance threw himself on his bed and pressed his hands over his mouth.

What in the hell was going on anymore?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mal tiempo, buena cara. - basically means even if everything is going wrong, just put on a brave face  
> hopefully the link worked but the song is just like jesse james by cher

**Author's Note:**

> note: this isn't goin to end up a shiro/keith/lance fic this is gonna be exclusively a klance fic im sorry.. maybe one day i'll write something for them in the future  
> conejito = little bunny  
> thank you for reading!


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